


That Thing You Do

by A_M_Kelley



Category: DC Extended Universe, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banter, Begging, Bruce is a brat, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Dry Humping, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Flirting, Horseback Riding, Jerome is insanely calm, Loud Sex, M/M, Power Dynamics, Riding, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_M_Kelley/pseuds/A_M_Kelley
Summary: Bruce orders him around, calling himstable boyall while he yawns and acts bored. He makes Jerome lift and haul hay bales all over the stable, changing his mind whenever Jerome carries it to a new spot, saying things likeon second thought, move it over here. By the time Bruce decides he's been thoroughly amused, there's a huge mess from all the hay that shook free from the bales. The customaryclean this up, stable boy!is what follows after.
Relationships: Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 9
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was partly inspired by Princess Bride (I'm pretty sure you can spot where). Bruce is eighteen in this fic and Jerome is probably early twenties. I imagined him as Season 2 Jerome if you want a specific picture.

After a week of this shit anyone would have called it quits no matter how good the money is. He's seen plenty of faces come and go in the short span of time he's worked at Wayne Manor, and could he really blame them? Bruce Wayne is a snooty, stuck up brat that gets his kicks out of ordering _the help_ around like they're beneath him. It's no wonder Alfred goes through so many applicants a month. No one's exactly bustling to get bossed around by a spoiled rich boy.

Jerome is different. He doesn't back down at the first sign of a challenge. In fact, he welcomes it. It could be because he's sort of a masochist, or perhaps it's because Bruce is so pretty and cute, but in the end Jerome decides that it's a little bit of both. There's a certain _charm_ to the way Bruce sticks his nose in the air and the sarcastic contemptuous tone he uses to address people. Some call Bruce's attitude rude; Jerome calls it endearing.

Like when Bruce purposely goes out of his way to forget someone's name.

"Stable boy!" Bruce calls out, hands resting impatiently on his hips.

"Yes, Master Wayne?" Jerome replies, hanging up a saddle.

"Clean this mess up!"

Or when he orders people to do some menial task that's already been done.

Jerome pauses and looks around the stable. He just got done cleaning the whole stable and fed all the horses; it's practically spotless. He gives it another once over before looking back towards Bruce.

" _Mess?_ " Jerome inquires curiously. His tone is benevolent, like he has all the patience in the world. "Where, sir?"

"Oh, I don't know… Maybe _that_ mess," Bruce snaps, gesturing towards a fews straws of hay near one of the stable doors. "Or what about all of _this_."

The redhead watches with fascination as Bruce huffs and stomps all over the stable, pointing out all the _filth_ Jerome neglected to clean up which was the equivalent of saying _you missed a spot_. And Jerome just stood there as Bruce complained about random stains on the ground or how there were leaves and dust blowing into the stable because it was slightly windy. You know, just nitpicky things to get under Jerome's skin.

"I expect this place to be _spotless_ before supper," Bruce huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

He's smirking at Jerome like he's pleased with himself, but the notion is short-lived when a big grin spreads across Jerome's face like he's just won the lottery.

"Of course, Master Wayne. I'll personally make sure this place is spick and span. It'll be clean enough to eat off of when I'm done with it," Jerome vows, somehow sounding both genuine and sarcastic in a single bound.

Bruce scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Clean enough for you and the dogs, maybe."

Oh, how Jerome loves it when Bruce is bratty. Bruce is eighteen, but still somehow manages to come off as a petulant child with a superiority complex. Bruce stomps off and Jerome does as he's told with a smile on his face, knowing that he got under the little rich boy's skin.

The days after that are long ones. Bruce orders him around, calling him _stable boy_ all while he yawns and acts bored. He makes Jerome lift and haul hay bales all over the stable, changing his mind whenever Jerome carries it to a new spot, saying things like _on second thought, move it over here_. By the time Bruce decides he's been thoroughly amused, there's a huge mess from all the hay that shook free from the bales. The customary _clean this up, stable boy!_ is what follows after. But the torment is put on hold, if only for a brief period of time.

As the weeks drag on, more and more workers around Wayne Manor quit and are immediately replaced by someone new. Jerome introduces himself to all the newbies but he doesn't bother learning their names because they'll all be gone in the next week or two anyway. That's probably why Bruce never calls anyone by their name and resorts to giving them occupational nicknames. Hence why Jerome is forever known as _stable boy_. Which reminds him…

"Stable boy!" Bruce yells.

"Yes, Master Wayne?" Jerome greets with a smile.

He can see Bruce's jaw clench slightly and Jerome has to wonder what the young master must be thinking. He's probably thinking: _How **dare** this lowly stable boy smirk at me like he's happy to be here._ Jerome's assumptions are confirmed when Bruce steps up to him in all his arrogance and to look down his nose at Jerome.

"Why are you always smiling like that?" Bruce questions.

"Just being polite," Jerome responds, still smirking. From this close Jerome can see that Bruce's cheeks are a little pink, but that's most likely from the slight chill in the air. Jerome likes to think it's because he's embarrassed, though. " _Service with a smile_. Isn't that the expression?"

"What's your name?" Bruce asks instead.

"Jerome."

"Do you like working here, Jerome?" Bruce poses, getting real close to Jerome this time as if to gauge his reaction; waiting for the slightest facial twitch to betray him. "You like taking orders from me and doing whatever I say without question?"

"I'm still here aren't I?" Jerome replies, still grinning from ear to ear.

Something in Bruce's expression turns sour for the briefest moment, like his skin's crawling from how deathly calm Jerome's being. There's just something about the way Jerome is always happy and smiling that unsettles Bruce to his core. Bruce thought of something that would wipe that smile off his face.

"Well, since you love it here so much, you can get back to work then," Bruce tells him, smirking again. "You can start by shovelling the shit out of the pens. When you're done with that you can polish my saddle and brush down all my horses. And I want it done by--"

"--by supper," Jerome finishes for him.

Bruce is taken aback by the sudden interruption, but he doesn't reprimand Jerome for speaking up. Jerome's still grinning like he's in on a joke that Bruce isn't aware of. Bruce stands there dumbfounded; the tips of his ears are pink to match his cheeks. He's never had a worker so happy and agreeable before that Bruce isn't sure how to respond.

"Precisely," Bruce concurs.

And then, in an especially bold move, Jerome takes Bruce's hand like he's a fair maiden and bows to him. The redhead stays bent over but tilts his head up and gazes at the young man.

"As you wish, Master Wayne," Jerome murmurs, rejoicing when Bruce flushes noticeably.

Bruce is all hot and flustered now. He thought that would wipe away the redhead's stupid grin, but Jerome smells blood in the water. Bruce let some dumb stable boy get the better of him and now he doesn't know how to act. It doesn't help that Jerome is so handsome either, otherwise Bruce would fire him on the spot. Bruce huffs and yanks his hand out of Jerome's gentle grip.

"It better be done when I get back," Bruce reminds him in a vague threat as he fusses with his hair.

"Of course, sir," says Jerome, standing up straight; ever agreeable.

And Jerome does it all without complaint. He cleans up after the horses, gives them all a nice brush down, and polishes and shines Bruce's favorite saddle. When Bruce comes back later in the evening, Jerome is casually reclining back on a stack of hay like he has nothing better to do. Jerome's got his legs kicked up on a bucket and uses the hay bales like an easy chair with his arms folded behind his head. He glances over at Bruce when the young man approaches him and offers him a friendly smile. Bruce smirks and crosses his arms.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I keep you waiting?" Bruce remarks in a patronizing tone.

"Not at all. I'd wait a thousand years for you," Jerome snarks back, scooting off of the hay bale and hopping to his feet.

"What about one thousand and one years?" Bruce challenges as he steps up to the aloof ginger. "Would you wait _that_ long for me?"

"Now that's just asking too much of me," Jerome teases, getting Bruce to chuckle.

For a brief moment Bruce's true nature is revealed to Jerome as he offers up a genuine smile other than the pinched little smirks that usually grace his sharp features. His eyes squint slightly at the corners, assimilating the subtle quirk of joy. Jerome's never seen a genuine reaction out of him, except for maybe when the kid is around his butler. That must mean Jerome's special or something. But the smile vanishes just as quickly as it comes and Bruce is back to remaining neutral.

"Did you do everything I asked?" Bruce inquires, getting to business.

"Of course," Jerome affirms, as per usual.

"Alright then," Bruce says with a sigh. He gives the stables a lazy, half-hearted once over and shoos Jerome away with his hand. "You may go."

This seems to puzzle Jerome if the slight furrow of eyebrows is anything to go by. It catches Jerome off guard, but he doesn't let it be known explicitly. Bruce doesn't notice either way.

" _Go?_ You're not gonna check my work first?" Jerome implores just to make sure he heard Bruce correctly.

"Why?" Bruce slowly gazes over at Jerome suspiciously. "Are you lying to me?"

"No--"

"Then I trust you," Bruce cuts in, and this time he notices the look of bewilderment spreading across the ginger's face. "You finished your work for the day; you can go home."

"Thank you, sir," says Jerome, bowing towards him slightly like he's royalty.

The redhead grabs his coat off one of the hooks near the entrance of the stable and pulls it on. Jerome's getting his stuff together and is about to head out when Bruce's voice beckons his attention back.

"Stable boy!"

Jerome turns around obediently at the call of the young master, anticipating what Bruce might want of him this time. This could be Bruce's big _a-ha!_ moment where he points out what Jerome did wrong or to say he missed a spot, but Bruce's expression is surprisingly gentle in nature. Jerome stands there in the doorway patiently waiting for instruction like a good worker bee.

"I expect my horse to be saddled and ready to ride in the morning."

There's something that flickers in Bruce's eyes for a few seconds, not entirely unlike the look of joy, but this was different. Not to mention, the way he addressed Jerome, despite calling him _stable boy_ , was a bit more subdued. It didn't come out sounding snippy and posh, but rather a gentle, yet sort of firm, reminder.

"Which one would you like me to saddle?" Jerome asks, having got quite good at working his way around Bruce's many trick questions.

"Surprise me," Bruce tells him with a small smile.

A grin spreads across Jerome's face in return as they share a moment of mutual respect for one another.

"As you wish, Master Wayne," Jerome vows with a gentle tone.


	2. Chapter 2

The very next day, Jerome arrives at Wayne Manor around the usual time. It's the weekend, so Bruce probably won't be down until about ten thirty, give or take. Depends on if he can convince Alfred to make him breakfast despite knowing the butler always makes it at nine o'clock on the dot. Jerome doesn't really need much time to prepare so he goes the extra mile. He picks out Bruce's fastest Thoroughbred, a beautiful tan mare named Scout, and gives her a quick brush down.

She's also one of the more feisty horses, but Jerome's been around them for so long now that he knows how to cater to their personalities. Jerome figures she's just excited to go for a ride. He brought down some carrots from the Manor when he first arrived and fed them to Scout, while also giving some to the other horses so they don't feel left out. Jerome pats her gently on the side of her face once she calms down for the treat. When there's no more carrots left, Scout nudges her head against Jerome's chest to playfully nip at his shirt.

There's still about forty-five minutes to kill, so Jerome refills all the horses' water and makes sure to restock their hay. He sweeps and mops up the mess made by the hay and water and figures he might as well go ahead and saddle Scout. It's still fifteen minutes before Bruce should be expected to come down, so Jerome takes his time when he fixes the bridle on Scout's head. A few minutes later, Jerome hears one of the doors creaking open just as he fastens the last buckle.

"Stable boy, are you in here?" Bruce's familiar voice calls out softly.

Jerome pokes his head out of Scout's stall and grins. Bruce hates how that smile makes him giddy.

"Right here, Master Wayne. Just getting your horse ready," Jerome informs as Bruce walks over to him.

Bruce pulls the stall door open to see Jerome fussing with the saddle to make sure it's secure. The young man watches Jerome for a few moments, letting his eyes wander unknowingly all over the ginger. He's wearing a red henley shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his freckled forearms. His shirt's tucked in and the suspenders attached to his pants bring attention to his muscles perfectly. Upon further inspection, Bruce notices the faint outline of sweat adorning the front of his shirt. It's not very hot out, quite fair actually, but Jerome's job entails a lot of physical labor so Bruce is not surprised.

He must have been staring for a long time because Jerome looks at him funny like he's turning green or something.

"You okay, sir?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah, I'm fine," Bruce stammers, blushing a little when Jerome gives him a knowing smirk. "I'm still waking up."

Truth is, Bruce can't seem to concentrate when he's around Jerome anymore. It started out with his usual teasing and bullying like he's done with so many people at Wayne Manor, but Jerome was different. Jerome wasn't fazed by Bruce's childish antics and didn't run home crying just because he was being a brat. Jerome stuck it out and did his work like he was supposed to. Something about that made Bruce's blood boil initially since he wasn't able to break Jerome and the more he accepted that, the more Jerome was able to get under his skin.

It also didn't help that Bruce was beginning to form a teeny tiny little crush on Jerome either.

"Well, she's ready for whenever you wanna go for a ride," Jerome tells him, patting Scout tenderly.

"Alright. I'm going to do some stretches. Go on and bring her out," Bruce instructs.

The young man makes his way out of the stable and sets out on limbering up for his ride. He's stretching out his legs when he hears Jerome approaching from behind with Scout in tow. Jerome stands off to the side while Bruce continues to stretch, eyeing the boy as his arms extend far above his head. Bruce is wearing a form fitting black turtleneck and every time he stretches his arms it rides up, revealing a glimpse of pale skin. Jerome drinks in the sight even more when Bruce bends over to stretch his back and legs.

Bruce extends down to touch his toes with his fingertips without bending his legs. Bruce suddenly feels self conscious because he can sense Jerome's eyes lingering on him. He's not turned off by the idea of Jerome looking at him, but despite the aura of arrogance he tries to masquerade in, he's still quite insecure and embarrassed when given so much attention. He likes it, welcomes it even, but it makes Bruce anxious all the same, forcing him to cut the stretching short just so he doesn't have to worry about Jerome staring long enough to find a flaw with him.

When Bruce turns around to face the ginger, Jerome doesn't even bother looking away to pretend like he wasn't just getting an eyeful of Bruce. Bruce isn't sure if he's afraid of Jerome's confidence or admires it. Probably a mixture of both. He loves how uncertain Jerome makes him feel; it makes Bruce feel alive and excites him in a way he's never experienced before. And to think he tried his damndest to drive Jerome away with his bratty behavior.

"Shall I get your riding helmet, Master Wayne?" Jerome asks politely, holding the reins to keep the horse still.

"That won't be necessary," says Bruce as he approaches his horse.

"Are you sure? She's pretty fast."

"I'm sure I can handle it," Bruce assures with a smirk.

Bruce doesn't mean for it to come out as flirtatious, not entirely at least, but Jerome's keen enough to pick up on it anyway. That's when Bruce notices the tension between them. He brushes past Jerome to climb up on his horse and shudders slightly when he feels the redhead's body heat radiating off of him. He wants to press in closer and get a better smell of the cologne he's wearing. Bruce almost has half a mind to sway into Jerome and pretend to faint just so he can feel his strong arms around him. But how embarrassing would that be? Besides, Bruce isn't brave enough to make the first move.

Jerome holds onto the reins as Bruce hops into the saddle and adjusts himself. He hands the lead over when Bruce sticks his hand out, causing Scout to shuffle anxiously back and forth. Jerome takes a few steps back to put some room between him and the horse and takes a gander at the young master sat atop his horse. The black turtleneck he wears frames his features in a flattering way, his wavy hair is combed and styled neatly in place, and his slender frame is delicately perched atop his horse. He looks absolutely elegant. Like a swan.

"Have a nice ride, Master Wayne," Jerome says, sending Bruce off.

The horse peels out as Bruce coaxes her to take off, leaving nothing but a few flakes of dirt and blades of grass in their wake. Jerome observes him with a lingering eye as he gallops across the field on his thoroughbred. There's an insane amount of land on Wayne Manor and Bruce covers it all as he continues to push Scout further and further. Bruce straddles the saddle with lithe but strong thighs and keeps his back perfectly straight as he rides his horse hard. Jerome marvels at the sheer madness of Bruce forgoing the helmet with how fast he's riding.

There's something about watching Bruce ride a horse that gets Jerome excited. Not only because it seems like Bruce is actually being who he really is for once, but also because of the obvious innuendo. Even from a distance, Jerome feels himself getting hot and bothered by the way Bruce's hips thrust and undulate with the motion of his horse. It gives Jerome too many ideas. Ideas that make his skin feel hot and itchy the more he watches Bruce. It gets to the point where Jerome has to walk away to splash some water on his face.

About a half hour later, Bruce trots back over to the stable and _christ almighty_. His once prim and proper hair is slightly disheveled from the breeze blowing through it, his cheeks are flushed to a lovely shade of pink, and he's panting a little from being jostled around on his horse. This is probably the most debauched Bruce has ever looked in his life and the redhead can't help but wonder what Bruce must look like when he's in the throes of passion.

"Now I'm feeling nice and limber," Bruce sighs, tossing the reins aside.

"I take it you enjoyed yourself?" Jerome asks, catching the reins before they can hit him in the face.

"I suppose," Bruce answers in a bored tone as he hops off of his horse and snatches the lead out of Jerome's hands.

Bruce starts to saunter back towards the stable with his horse and Jerome follows after him, staring at his swishing hips the whole time. Bruce takes off the saddle and all the other gear strapped to Scout's head before he puts her back in her stall, much to Jerome's surprise. By now the redhead had grown accustomed to waiting on Bruce hand and foot, so it was a pleasant change of pace. Then he thinks about Bruce's less than eager response about whether he had fun or not and decides to make a move.

"Sounds like horse riding isn't cutting it anymore," Jerome surmises in an offhand comment. "Have you ever thought about taking up another hobby or riding something else?"

"What else is there to ride?" Bruce inquires as he turns around to face Jerome.

A wide grin spreads across the redhead's face. He's taken the bait. Jerome has him now. Hook, line, and sinker. Jerome casually stuffs his hands into his pockets and steps closer to Bruce. The kid doesn't budge; standing his ground even when he feels the heat radiating off of the stable boy. Bruce is curious to hear what Jerome has to say, having gotten used to carrying actual conversation with the man by now. His impish nature intrigues Bruce.

"You can ride plenty of things, Master Wayne. ATVs, bikes, motorcycles…" Jerome rattles off. His voice is even and sure; body language relaxed yet dominant. Then, in a hushed intimate tone, he adds quite smoothly, "...my lap."

It takes a moment for the words to click. Jerome is so close to him, that Bruce thinks about swooning because he's completely floored by the statement. But then Bruce comes to his senses, close enough to smell a mixture of sweat and cologne wafting off of Jerome, and staggers back to get away. He nearly trips over a salt lick just to put some distance between them. Jerome's eyes light up in manic delight, amused that he was able to ruffle Bruce's feathers a little, because now Bruce is blushing furiously and acting like he's way too posh to hear such things.

" _Excuse me?_ " Bruce squawks in a less than dignified tone. "Just what are you trying to imply?"

"Nothing you wouldn't want to do, sir," Jerome replies, staying where he is even as he notices the kid map out the exits.

"I should have you fired for speaking to me like that!" Bruce threatens.

Color is rushing to his face; high on his cheeks and making him appear much too young, especially with the way his turtleneck frames his face. He's flustered like a cornered animal with nowhere to go, except Bruce can leave at any given moment if he truly wants to. He wouldn't dream of forcing himself onto Bruce. But somehow, the mere presence of Jerome is enough to instill obedience into Bruce. Jerome just chuckles at his predicament.

"You think that's _funny_?" Bruce huffs when Jerome goes full on cackle mode.

"Yes! It's funny that you think you can fire me," Jerome sniffles through tears, wiping at his eyes.

"Oh yeah? Who's gonna stop me?"

The laughter slowly dies down and Jerome fixes Bruce with a much more serious gaze. He looks like a completely different person when his face isn't contorted into a smirk or maniacal grin. His features are much more soft and gentle, instead of sharp and piercing. Like he was Norman Bates; a sweet, innocent mama's boy who could do no wrong. It takes Bruce by surprise when Jerome seems to flash-- _what is that? Puppy eyes?_ Oh, Bruce is screwed. He doesn't even try to step away when Jerome walks towards him again. It's like he's caught in a web and resigned to his fate.

"You can try and fire me, but you won't," Jerome tells him, like it's a fact. And who's to say it isn't?

"Why's that?" Bruce asks out of morbid curiosity.

Jerome curls a finger inwards like he's beckoning Bruce to come closer and whisper in his ear like it's a secret. Yet who's going to hear? The horses? Despite everything about the situation screaming at Bruce to walk away, he can't quite bring himself to budge. Something about Jerome's eyes just draws him in and before Bruce can help it, he's leaning in towards the redhead and catching the tailend of a smirk out of his peripheral vision. Bruce swallows and holds his breath, feeling Jerome's every exhale.

"Because you like me," Jerome murmurs, practically feeling the shudder that quakes its way through the brunette.

_Fuck._

"You're too proud to admit it, but you like me. Maybe even _more_ than like," Jerome reiterates, turning his head inwards to brush the tip of his nose into the side of Bruce's head.

Bruce doesn't turn his head, and he doesn't need to, because he can hear the smile in Jerome's voice. Besides, he's too afraid to take that last step leading him to the one thing this has all been building up to. You could say his behavior towards Jerome these past couple months was just in his nature, to be a snobby brat, but in hindsight Bruce knows better now. Maybe that's what all the others have been about as well. Jerome just so happened to be the first and only one to take his attitude in stride and reciprocate what he was laying down.

Jerome's hands leave his pockets, he pulls his head back, and advances on Bruce, managing to coax the young man backwards. It's a small reprieve that reminds Bruce to breathe as the slightly taller man pushes him up against one of the stall doors. Bruce flinches a little when Jerome lifts a hand, but relaxes, as much as he can at least, when Jerome plants it next to his shoulder on the stable door. Not quite trapping him, but blocking Bruce in such a way that leaves the brunette speechless and on edge in the most delightful way.

"You are such a tease. Do you know that?" Jerome remarks with a heavy sigh, shaking his head fondly. "Bossing me around the way you do and thinking I wouldn't do anything about it."

Bruce's mouth feels dry and when he swallows the sound is deafening, even to his ears. All he can do is stand perfectly still with his hands pressed between the wooden door and the small of his back.

"You and I both know what all that meant," Jerome states.

Bruce glances up at Jerome just then like the words were challenging him.

"What did it mean, Jerome?" Bruce manages to ask, setting his jaw and looking directly into Jerome's eyes.

" _Foreplay_."

A wave of heat washes over Bruce and he flushes a digustingly aroused shade of pink at the mere mention of anything remotely sexual concerning Jerome. Jerome can see the change in Bruce's whole demeanor. He isn't stuck up and huffing like his usual self. Bruce isn't attempting to bark orders at Jerome because he understands now that he isn't the one in control here. He isn't dominant. Jerome is. Jerome might be at the mercy of Bruce when his paycheck is concerned, but Bruce is at _his_ mercy when it comes to service and the quality thereof. A sort of _get what you pay for_ type of deal.

"All the attitude and orders and _pushing_..." Jerome punctuates the last word with the firm press of his hips into Bruce's.

He's delighted when Bruce gasps and somehow manages to stumble further against the stall door when the latch gives and barely hinges closed. Bruce catches himself; sweaty palms grasping feebly at the chipping paint of the stable as Jerome braces both hands on the wood. Bruce is standing up perfectly straight, bracketed in by Jerome's arms with nowhere to run to, and it makes Bruce's heart beat faster. Now that physical contact has been made, it's all Bruce can dwell on. His universe ends and begins where Jerome's groin touched his.

"That's all it ever was, wasn't it?" Jerome beckons, searching for confirmation through Bruce's compliance. "Foreplay to get me all _riled up_."

Words fail him and Bruce's face becomes downcast. His eyebrows furrow with worry and his mouth draws into a thin line. He feels like he's being called out and put on trial for all the torment he put Jerome through at the expense of his own amusement. He now understands how all the others felt when he bossed them around. Put on the spot and humiliated.

"Being a brat gets you excited. That's nothing to be ashamed of," Jerome coos when he recognizes the expression of remorse flitting across Bruce's features. "We all have our…" Jerome gestures around with his hand lazily "... _kinks_."

Bruce feels incredibly small compared to Jerome in this moment, despite the fact their difference in height being only a few inches. He could feel the difference now in alarming detail and the fact that he was cowering while Jerome was just so relaxed and extended to his full height made him nervous. It was like Jerome was slowly closing in all around him. Bruce opens his mouth like he intends to say something, Christ only knows what that could be, but is cut short when Jerome interrupts him.

"Would you like to know what my kink is?" Jerome prompts, staring into Bruce's imploring brown eyes.

"Wh-what is it?" Bruce inquires hesitantly; grossly inquisitive for his own good. Like watching a trainwreck and waiting patiently to discover the casualties among the wreckage.

"Doing whatever it takes to make you absolutely _desperate_ for me," Jerome tells him in earnest.

The most embarrassing whimper leaves Bruce's throat and he swoons when Jerome leans in to press their lips together. His hands come up, a sort of half-hearted attempt to push the redhead away, but they end up clutching at Jerome's suspenders instead. It's soft and chaste, nothing like the heat or energy Bruce had expected from someone like Jerome. That's not to say he was disappointed. If anything, the lack of intensity had Bruce keening for _more_ and he realized belatedly that was Jerome's plan. Leave Bruce wanting just a _little_ more until he broke down and begged and then, and _only_ then, would Jerome oblige him.

He wasn't entirely ready to break down and plead, and he figures that wouldn't be fun for Jerome either, so he begs in other subtle ways. Pulling on Jerome's suspenders to yank him closer, panting in between kisses, and nipping at his lips every so often. Actions speak louder than words after all. When Bruce is finally a squirming, keening mess Jerome opens his mouth to deepen their kiss to something not quite so PG-13. Jerome grabs Bruce by the hips and pushes him against the stable, making them wobble when the door whines under their enthusiasm.

Nearly all of Jerome's weight shifts into Bruce, pinning the younger man under his body as they align head to toe. Jerome's hips are flush against Bruce's. Bruce can't tell if Jerome's aroused yet because he's wearing jeans and the only way he'd know for sure is if Jerome was completely hard. Bruce, on the other hand, was an open book. His pants were loose fitting and the way Jerome had taken him by surprise was apparently enough to persuade his libido to respond. What else did Bruce expect to happen when Jerome has his leg wedged between his thighs.

He continues to pull and yank on Jerome's suspenders all while Jerome devours his mouth. Bruce shifts a little and manages to rub his hard on against Jerome's thigh, riding him like an awkward kid at his senior prom. Bruce gasps and moans as his hips stutter for _more_ friction and _more_ contact. Bruce has only been kissed and he's already come so undone to the point where he could probably get off from humping Jerome's leg. Jerome hums a giggle in response and Bruce can feel him smirking into their next heated kiss.

It becomes a cat and mouse game between the two as Jerome sees how long he can kiss Bruce before the kid has to break away and gasp for air. Usually, Jerome likes to press his hips against his partner so they can both revel in the friction, but when he leans back for a brief spell and sees how hopelessly _needy_ Bruce is, it's more than enough to make his cock hard. Bruce's prim and proper curls are disheveled and the blush adorning his face is riding high on his cheekbones. He looks as if he just got done running, especially with how his pretty mouth hangs open in a breathless pant.

Glancing down at where Bruce is practically sitting on his thigh, Jerome can tell just how achingly hard the kid must be right now. The obscene outline leaves little to the imagination and Jerome swears he sees a little damp spot seeping through the fabric. The whole picture only falls into place for about five seconds, but fuck if time didn't feel like it slowed down just for Jerome to take in the glorious sight of _Bruce Wayne_ humping him like a pathetic virgin.

Jerome licks and nips his way in and around Bruce's mouth until his lips are pink and glistening with saliva. Jerome pulls back in the midst of it all, prompting Bruce to follow after him subconsciously before falling back against the stable in a breathless heap. Bruce's legs are splayed wide open while his hips still mindlessly seek out Jerome's thigh to grind upon. He's starting to look _desperate_ now, but he isn't fully there yet. Jerome wants him _sobbing_ for relief by the time he's through with him.

In an act of downright cruelty, at least in Bruce's eyes, Jerome lets go of the brunette entirely and takes a step back to put distance between Bruce's aroused groin and Jerome's leg. Bruce makes this displeased little noise at the back of his throat and his face contorts into that cute little pout/scowl of his whenever he doesn't get his way.

"Why'd you stop?" Bruce complains, anxiously tugging on Jerome's suspenders; afraid he might leave him hanging.

"'Cause I got something better than dry humping in mind," Jerom tells him. He cups Bruce's face in his hands and kisses him deeply. Jerome breaks it off and rests his forehead against Bruce's perspiring one and giggles excitedly. He murmurs against the kid's sultry lips, "Turn around."

Bruce whimpers at the implication and immediately does as he's told; letting go of Jerome and bracing himself into the wood. He has his slim chest pressed up against the stable with his head turned to one side and his pert little butt sticking out. He's never come close to doing whatever it is Jerome plans on doing, but he's not exactly naive either. Bruce waits with bated breath as he hears Jerome huff a pleased little laugh through his nose. He can see Jerome's shadow descend upon him out of the corner of his eye as Jerome gets closer.

In an instant, Bruce's pants and underwear are being pulled down roughly to expose his backside for all the horses to see. His cock bobs as it's released and it twitches when the cool air hits his feverish skin. Bruce's mouth falls open in a silent gasp when Jerome kicks his legs further apart and doesn't bother to pull his garments down past mid thigh. Bruce thinks he should feel more self-conscious considering this is his first time being naked in front of another person, but he's smart enough to know that Jerome isn't going to judge him or humiliate him in such a cruel way. If he humiliates Bruce, it will be in a way that is both sexually gratifying for them.

"What a cute little butt," Jerome admires, giggling as he gives Bruce's backside a couple gentle taps. Then he leans into Bruce's ear and whispers, "I can't wait to feel it bouncing on my lap."

Bruce moans in agreement, practically begging for that _right now_ , but knowing he has to earn it first. A hand reaches down and wraps around the base of Bruce's cock, giving it an experimental stroke that coaxes out the softest of sounds from the brunette. Bruce's hips push back, coming into contact with what he can only assume is Jerome's groin when the redhead pushes back. Jerome grinds his clothed cock against Bruce's bare ass all while he jacks the kid off from behind.

Jerome spends a little time just stroking Bruce's cock and rubbing his cock into the curve of the other man's ass, murmuring words of encouragement every so often. He finds out soon that Bruce leaks a lot of precome and figures it's because Bruce is so turned and high strung with arousal that it just pours from him in buckets. Bruce's cock becomes so slick and tacky with precome that it makes the most beautiful squelching noise whenever it passes through Jerome's closed fist. It all comes to a head when Jerome's other hands slaps him firmly on the ass, ripping Bruce from his momentary daze. Jerome presses into him and plants a few gentle kisses just behind the younger man's ear.

"I have to grab something real quick. Can you be a good boy and stay put?" Jerome inquires, breath ghosting across the shell of Bruce's ear and fanning down the side of his face.

"Yes," Bruce promises obediently.

There's some shuffling around going on behind Bruce and before he knows what hits him, two slick fingertips are teasing at his entrance. Bruce flinches from the sudden unsuspected sensation then relaxes all in the same breath when the realization of what's happening hits him. Bruce is a smart young man and can put two and two together. Jerome stepped away to shimmy the lubricant he had out of his pocket, meaning Jerome came prepared as he planned this from the get go. Bruce didn't know whether to be upset at himself since he was predictable enough to play into Jerome's trap or to praise the stable boy for planning ahead.

Either way, Bruce didn't have time to praise the universe for small mercies like lube, because Jerome was thrusting two fingers deep inside of Bruce. His lower half bucked forward, trying to get away from the initial discomfort out of instinct, before pressing back against Jerome's hand for more. Jerome's fingers slipped deeper into Bruce, making him call out shortly when he feels them glide across his prostate. Bruce moans and his whole body shudders with delight; his cock bobbing with the motion as his lips curl into a pleased smirk.

For the next couple of minutes, Jerome works Bruce over with his fingers; stretching and thrusting them inside long enough to get Bruce nice and loose for him. Bruce whines and moans as dignified as he can manage while uselessly clawing at the stable door. Jerome's making these pleased hums of approval whenever Bruce reacts to any one of Jerome's many movements. He lives for the gratification he gets from knowing that Bruce's pleasure rests solely within his hands. It almost makes Jerome want to fuck Bruce with just his fingers, but that shit's for the birds and men with much more patience than himself.

He doesn't bother adding a third finger because he wants Bruce as tight as possible without hurting him too much in the process. Plus, Bruce is starting to crumble as his moaning becomes a jumbled mess of half formed syllables masquerading as actual words. Jerome smirks, safe in the knowledge that he's finally got Bruce to the beginning of ultimate desperation.

"Please, Jerome," Bruce pants, humping his ass back onto Jerome's fingers.

"Please what?" Jerome asks ignorantly; a smile shaping the tone of his words.

"It's not enough," whines the brunette.

"You know what you have to do if you want more," Jerome informs him.

"Come on, I've already said _please_. Isn't that good enough?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm gonna need more than one pathetic little _please_ ," Jerome scoffs, all while he continues to finger his slick hole.

"Please, give me more. I'll do anything! I'll be such a good boy and never be a brat again," Bruce pleads incoherently, figuring this is the kind of cathartic shit Jerome needs to hear.

"Ooh, you're gonna have to try harder than that, kitten," Jerome tasks.

He twists and flexes his fingers within Bruce's channel, causing Bruce to squeal out in ecstasy when Jerome teases just the right spot. Bruce doesn't quite sob, but he pounds his fists into the wooden surface out of frustration. He needs more; something nice and big to really stretch him apart and press into all the best places nestled inside him. Except, that won't happen unless he gives Jerome what he really wants.

" _Please_ ," Bruce whines pitifully again, thinking if he says it enough times it will magically get through to Jerome. "I want your cock inside me so bad; stretching me open. I wanna ride you until my thighs hurt. God, please, let me fuck myself on your huge cock. _Oh, please, please, please…_ "

The rest tapers off into unintelligible sobs as Bruce's dangling cock twitches dejectedly between his legs. He's so fucking hard right now that the slightest breeze might just send him over the edge and he _needs_ Jerome's cock inside him for at least one second before that happens just so he knows what it feels like. Then, mercifully, Jerome responds in the affirmative.

"How can I say no when you beg so nicely for me?"

Jerome withdraws his fingers from Bruce's hole and shuffles around. There's a soft thud and the sound of a fly coming undone. Bruce takes this as his cue to kick his pants off the rest of the way and turn around. Jerome's made himself comfortable on a bale of hay propped up against the stable wall, but what really gets Bruce feeling hot under the collar is the fact that the ginger is still fully clothed with the exception of his cock protruding from the front of his pants. Bruce still has his turtleneck on, mind you, but something about the subtle physical representation of who has more control in this situation has Bruce quaking with excitement.

"Sit on my lap," Jerome orders with a grin stretched across his face, the same smile he's given to Bruce so many times before.

Bruce does as he's told and walks over to Jerome on trembling legs. Jerome idly slicks up his cock with lube as Bruce clambers onto the bale of hay. He straddles Jerome's lap, knees digging into the scratchy strands of hay, and hovers above the ginger's groin. Bruce reaches down to grasp the base of Jerome's cock and poises it at his entrance, taking a moment to tease the tip against his hole to spread more lube around the rim. His hole twitches in anticipation, bracing for when Bruce finally starts to sink down.

He works himself down the length of Jerome's cock, groaning and whimpering as his too tight hole relaxes around it agonizingly slow. Bruce throws his head back and makes this strangled noise caught between a moan and a wail and he swears he feels Jerome's cock pulse at the sound of it. Jerome is so big and Bruce is so tight that it feels as though he might split in half the moment his thighs rest upon Jerome's lap. Bruce is astonished when he's finally fully seated on Jerome's cock and doesn't faint. Bruce wiggles his hips and lets himself adjust and the rest is history.

The moment the dull ache subsides, Bruce is lifting himself off of Jerome's lap and plopping back down full force. He starts at a steady pace, allowing himself to take it in stride with long, deep strokes, before gradually building himself to a more frantic pace. Each time Bruce slams back down, he lets out a sharp gasp that sounds like he's been punched in the gut. Jerome's hands come up to rest on Bruce's hips so he can steady the younger man and feel every single undulating roll of his hips descending onto his cock.

Once Bruce is past the hurdle, he reaches up and grabs onto Jerome's suspenders once again and _really_ starts to ride his lap. He holds onto the straps like horse reins as he fervently bounces on Jerome's cock with reckless abandon. The force of Bruce's weight coming down on Jerome's lap would be loud if it weren't for the jeans nullifying the sound that would otherwise be the telltale slapping of skin and sinew colliding into one another. But the fact that all that could be heard were Bruce's gasps and desperate moans was somehow more gratifying on their own.

And Bruce was _loud_.

The kid didn't seem to have a filter and it got to the point where even the horses in the stalls began to whinny from all the excitement. But, God, was it incredibly sexy. Jerome couldn't help but stare in awe as Bruce rode him hard, much like how he rode Scout earlier. Back straight, grip firm, hips rotating and adjusting to each turbulent bump. The kid was a natural at riding cock. Who would've thought horseback riding would pay off so well?

In the midst of his display, Bruce slams down hard, impaling himself completely of Jerome's cock. He rocks his hips and wiggles them all about to take a short breather from all the energy he's exerting. Bruce's knees dig into the hay bale and he knows they'll be scratched all to hell later, but it's totally worth it in hindsight. He takes this time to lean forward and kiss Jerome on the lips, being met with a welcome wagon of playful nips to his mouth. Even this feels great. Just having his cock buried deep inside Bruce's quivering channel as they make out languidly would be enough to make Jerome come. But that isn't what he wanted right now. He wanted Bruce absolutely desperate.

"Come on, don't stop," Jerome growls, gripping Bruce's hips tightly as he attempts to move the kid up and down through pure strength.

Bruce picks up the pace once again after he's had a moment to catch his breath, though his thighs scream in protest. Bruce powers through the strain in his muscles to give his last _hurrah!_ and fucks himself so hard on Jerome's cock that the ginger's thighs even start to hurt from the repeated blows of Bruce's ass bouncing on his lap. It looks so violent and painful with how hard and fast Bruce is riding when, in reality, it's the most toe curling sensation there is. Jerome assumes it's the same for Bruce, because now he's a sobbing wreck.

Bruce is hunched forward slightly while his hips are hitched in such a way that Jerome's cock jabs into his prostate every time. It draws out this pathetic, choked up wail of ecstasy that makes it sound as though the pleasure is being tortured out of Bruce. And maybe it is. It all feels like too much and not enough at the same time; trapped in a limbo of being on the precipice of coming but not quite reaching the pinnacle of it. Except Bruce _does_ reach it. By God, does he ever.

His whole body shudders and his eyes bulge open as a silent yell seizes his throat. His hips are once again flush against Jerome's lap as he trembles uncontrollably. Bruce's thighs tighten around Jerome's lap, clenching impossibly hard as his nerves erupt with endorphins. Jerome lets out a sharp gasp as Bruce's muscles constrict tightly around his cock and groans when he feels them start to pulsate with each tremor that ripples through Bruce's jerking cock. Bruce comes so hard that he's still spurting ten seconds later. It completely drenches the front of Jerome's shirt.

The sight and sensation of Bruce coming while riding his cock is enough to make Jerome shoot his load. He's deeply embedded within Bruce's tight and clenching hole as he redecorates the kid's insides with a fresh coat of white. Bruce gasps at the sudden flood of warmth and even tries to climb off of Jerome, but the ginger keeps him right where he is by squeezing his hips tightly enough to leave finger shaped bruises against his porcelain skin. Jerome's hips give a few feeble jerks, aftershocks of hitting his orgasm, and smirks when Bruce makes soft little noises even after he's exhausted his vocal chords.

Bruce leans his forehead against Jerome's and gives him a sloppy kiss. They both laugh breathlessly as they come down from their adrenaline high, only for their afterglow to be cut short by the shocked voice coming from the entrance to the stables.

"What the bloody 'ell!" Alfred exclaims, staring wide eyed at the intimate tableaux before him.

"Alfred!" Bruce gasps, pressing himself tightly to Jerome in an attempt to cover himself up. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you were in trouble! I heard you screamin' and carryin' on like you were being murdered!" Alfred stammers as his eyes dart around helplessly for somewhere to look other than his naked ward in the lap of a stable boy.

He stares wildly at Alfred and Alfred stares back and Bruce feels as though he could die from embarrassment right here and now. Neither of them make a move or speak up, too shaken by the trauma, as a deathly silence befalls the stable. Even the horses have gone quiet at this point. It's so quiet that Bruce can hear the exact moment Jerome cracks a smile and he _knows_ that nothing good can come of that.

And then, with well timed wit and delivery, Jerome cuts in with a manic smirk and offers his own form of levity to the situation.

"Well, they don't call it the _little death_ for nothin'," Jerome cracks, giving the old butler a suggestive wink as well as a heart attack.


End file.
